


all i ask

by dnbroughs



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, Songfic, gratuitous use of the word fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 22:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16752751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnbroughs/pseuds/dnbroughs
Summary: Stan knew that all good things must inevitably come to an end.





	all i ask

**Author's Note:**

> based on all i ask by adele

Stan knew that all good things must inevitably come to an end.

The story of Stan and Bill had, for awhile, been simple and straightforward: Stan and Bill were friends, Stan and Bill slept together, Stan was hopelessly in love with Bill, Bill knew about this, and neither of them said a thing about it. 

Their relationship, if that’s even what you could call it, sustained the whole way through college, until Stan, by chance or with good input from his father, was offered a job as a junior accountant in Florida.

“It’s a once in a lifetime offer.” Stan said over the rim of his glass of vodka tonic (Bill knew by the look on Stan’s face that he’d need something stronger than his usual glass of orange juice. It made Stan’s heart skip a beat) and Bill took a measured sip of his beer. 

“It sounds fantastic.” Bill agreed, licking the foam off his top lip before fixing Stan with a knowing look. “But you’re not sure.”

Stan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, I should be jumping at the opportunity, but my life is here with you guys. Do I really wanna give all that up?” _ Please ask me to stay please ask me to stay please ask me to stay- _

Another sip of beer. “Well I think you should take it.” 

So Stan did. He packed his heart into a battered suitcase and left the week after, and the whole flight there, not once did he think about Bill, about his stupid face, his stupid laugh, his stupid goodbye text, the stupid love bite Bill left on his hip. Most of all, he didn’t think about how Bill didn’t come to the airport to say goodbye. He didn’t dare to do so until he entered his sparse new apartment, where he slid down against the closed door and sobbed until he fell asleep, still in his travelling clothes, still unpacked, still missing blue eyes and auburn hair.

 

When Bill’s debut novel was released, Stan bought three copies and read one of them back to front in a day.

**Good job Denbrough** , Stan texted Bill as soon as he’d finished the last page. The reply was almost instant.

**_missed your constant nagging. would’ve been finished three months ago with you around_ **

**Miss you.**

Bill didn’t text back.

 

When Stan moved back to New York, he bought a copy of Bill’s latest thriller to read on the flight. It was cliche and ten-a-penny, but it was so intricately intertwined with _ BillBillBill  _ that Stan couldn’t put it down the whole way there. Mike was picking him up from the airport- he had offered as soon as Stan had told the Losers he was moving back to the city- but when ink stained fingers tapped him on the shoulder, Stan instantly allowed himself to get lost in Bill, and that Bill was here, and that it didn’t matter that Bill didn’t see him off because Bill was here now. Bill had come to get him.

“Get in the car, Uris.” Bill chuckled when the hug Stan gave him lasted a little too long, but Stan didn’t care. He beamed as they drove to the bar, beamed as all the other Losers embraced him, beamed as Richie enquired after the ‘fine Florida Ass’ and Ben asked about some building or another. And that night, he beamed as Bill hooked one of Stan’s legs around his waist and thrust into him for the first time in a long time, revelling in the obscene slap of skin against skin and the brush of Bill’s stubble against his neck and the blinding pleasure that washed over him as he came.

When he woke the next morning, the bed was empty next to him. Stan tried not to be disappointed, he really did.

 

They didn’t stop, after that. When Bill had finished a particularly good chapter, they fucked, their touches playful and teasing. When Stan had a bad day at work, they fucked, hard and fast and wild. Sometimes they fucked for the sake of fucking, taking their time to pull each other apart until all they could think about was each other. Stan loved these times especially, because Bill tended to hang about, not bothering with excuses about meetings or deadlines or, Stan’s favourite, because ‘I think I left the stove on.’

It couldn’t last, Stan  _ knew  _ it couldn’t last, but with Bill’s arms wrapped around his waist, his soft breaths tickling the hairs at the nape of Stan’s neck, he could at least pretend.

 

Stan opened the morning paper to find Bill plastered all over the gossip page, hand in hand with some actress, leaving a sleazy club in Brooklyn. Not even an hour later, Bill knocked on his door.

They fucked. Bill left. Not once did Stan ask.

 

A week later, he turned on the television to find the same actress waxing poetic about her new relationship with an author. The same author that was lying in Stan’s bed. 

Bill came in. He watched over Stan’s shoulder. He placed kisses down Stan’s neck while tugging at the bottom of his sleep shirt. Stan rode Bill on the living room floor, and he tried not to look at the actress’s face on the TV in front of him. 

Bill left, again. Not once did Stan ask.

 

Eight months later, Bill told them that he’d proposed to Audra. Mike and Ben cheered, Richie clapped him on the back, Eddie gave him a hug, Bev ordered another round of drinks and Stan smiled. 

They fucked. Of course they did, it’s not like they stopped. They fucked and fucked until the watery wash of the early morning sun leaked through the gaps in Stan’s curtains. Stan watched Bill get dressed, watched his arms flex as he pulled on his shirt, the fabric covering the deep ridges Stan’s nails had made in his back. When Bill’s fingers brushed the door handle, Stan couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you, you know.”   
Bill’s lips twitched, maybe a smile, maybe a grimace, and he fixed Stan with that same look as he did the day he told Stan to leave.

“I know.”

And with that, he was gone.

 

A whirlwind romance, the tabloids called it. A charming love affair between Hollywood’s Sweetheart and The Best Thing To Happen To Literature This Decade. Bill had everyone fooled. Bill had _ him  _ fooled, too, until he spent the best part of an hour between Stan’s thighs, until all Stan could think about was Bill and the blinding ecstacy Bill was giving him.

“Audra doesn’t want you to come to the wedding.” Bill told him as he wiped Stan down, his blue eyes searching for an answer, but Stan refused to look at him. Instead he tried to find shapes in the white expanse of his ceiling and tried to figure out if he should be heartbroken or relieved,

“What do you want?” His voice was flat and colourless, and he felt Bill flinch.

Neither of them spoke for a while, the dull thunk of the radiator filling the space between them. 

“I don’t know.” Bill finally replied. Stan wanted to laugh.

“Get out, Bill.”

And he did. 

Stan didn’t sleep, but he didn’t cry either. That was at least progress, he supposed.

 

He didn’t go to the wedding. He made a very public apology to Bill in front of all the Losers, and made up some excuse about work. Bill was smart enough to be reassuring, even at Richie’s protests, and none of them mentioned it.

Bev showed up at his apartment the night before the wedding and didn’t say a word. She knew, Stan knew that she did, but she didn’t ask, either, and for that, Stan was glad. The tears burned his face and Bev rubbed his back as he cried and cried until he fell asleep. He woke up to find a bottle of vodka and his placeholder from their table at the reception sitting on his kitchen counter. He poured the bottle down the sink and slept until his eyes wouldn’t stay closed.

 

The wedding came and went, as if the gossip magazines would let him forget, and Bill and Stan still fucked. Neither of them talked about it, neither of them said a word during, and Stan would feign sleep afterwards so he didn’t have to see Bill leave. It was quick, it was clean, and Stan hated it. He hated that he was a dirty little secret, he hated that he was hurting some poor woman that he didn’t know, but what he hated most of all, was that Bill saw him as nothing more than a quick fuck. But Stan could live with that, because at least Bill wanted him. 

But it had to stop. For real, this time. Yet despite this knowledge, it didn’t stop Stan’s heart from aching as he opened the door to Bill.

“Audra’s pregnant.” Stan said before Bill could.

His answering chuckle was mirthless and hollow. “So you heard, then.”

Stan nodded, and he didn’t stop Bill from stepping across the threshold, closing the door behind him, and clutching Stan’s waist.

“We have to stop.” He breathed, his face inching closer to Stan’s.

“I know.” Stan could feel his breath hit Bill’s face and could feel their lips brush as he spoke, and that’s all it took for the tension between them to snap, and Bill was kissing Stan and Stan was kissing Bill and neither knew where one started and the other ended. Strong hands slid down to clutch at Stan’s thighs and he didn’t need Bill to tell him to jump, his legs wrapping around Bill’s waist as Bill walked them to Stan’s room, their kisses deep and thorough and filthy and Stan never wanted to let him go.

They landed on the bed in a tangle of limbs, and with a flurry of hands their clothes were gone and Bill was three fingers deep in Stan and nothing could ever compare to the stretch and burn of Bill prepping him, his touches still gentle and curious, even after all this time. They were a symphony of moans and whispers and whines and then with one quick movement, Bill was sliding into Stan and Stan’s back was arching with pleasure and if Bill noticed the tears in his eyes he didn’t say a word. 

It felt like every second lasted a minute and every minute lasted a second and before long, Stan was coming with a shout, white hot pleasure wrapping itself around every nerve ending in his body, and then Bill came too, falling on top of Stan with heaving breaths that eventually petered out into a steady give and take, each breath accompanied by a pulsing beat of a heart.

After a minute, or maybe an hour, Stan couldn’t tell, Bill tried to sit up, but Stan only pulled him back down again.

“Stan-” Bill warned, but Stan cut him off with a hard, quick press of his lips against Bill’s.

“Please, Bill. Please just- just let me have this.” He whispered against Bill’s mouth.

Stan could see the war going on in Bill’s head, his eyes as open and expressive as the day Stan met him, and he gave a jerky nod. Wincing as he pulled out, Bill flopped onto the bed next to Stan and gathered him in his arms, holding Stan flush against him, his hands tangling in Stan’s damp curls as the rise and fall of Bill’s chest lulled Stan to sleep. Between wake and slumber, Stan whispered promises of love against Bill’s chest, trying to fight the eventual emptiness that will overtake him. Bill shushed him, the hand in Stan’s hair willing his eyes closed, and just for a moment, Stan believed that Bill loved him back, believed that this was going somewhere, that Bill was holding him like he was more than just a fuck, more than just a friend. In his head, everything was perfect. I his heart, he knew that he could never love anyone like he loved Bill.

In the morning, Bill was gone. The apartment was empty. The other side of Stan’s bed was made. Stan’s heart was empty.

 

As Stan boarded the plane for Atlanta six weeks later, he picked up a copy of Bill Denbrough’s new horror novel to read on the flight. As the plane took off, he opened the first page.

_ This is for you, my love. _

Stan closed his eyes and wished Bill was talking about him.

**Author's Note:**

> come and say hi on tumblr @ d-nbroughs !


End file.
